


A Surrender of Spaces

by bellygunnr



Category: Rockman X | Mega Man X, Rockman | Mega Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2020-03-22 03:37:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18979414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellygunnr/pseuds/bellygunnr
Summary: "X! The Reploid who cries and mourns and is driven by emotion, now imperiled by such impulses, for Hanahaki is a disease that refuses to discriminate. It seeks out love of all unspoken, forsaken natures, and goes down in history as the definition of ‘beauty in death.’ "





	1. Bellflowers

Zero remembers when X was still young, his eyes full of light and life and hope, his voice as strong as his spirit. Zero remembers when X was still naive, a believer in his ideals, scorning venomously the cynical judgement of his superiors. He remembers X yesterday, his armour broken and his buster carved in half, eyes glaring defiantly into the face of Sigma. Rage and honest, raw hatred boiled behind crystal green eyes until a remote blast sent X flying.

The battle had been intense. The result had been a victory.

They still waged war.

X’s eyes in the hospital wing are devoid of life and color. His armor is stripped, his skin is burnt, and his life is maintained by wires running in and out of his skull. Zero grips the side of X’s bed, fingers crushing the steel in the wake of his anguish. A voice pulls him free of his reveries.

“If it hadn’t been for you, Zero, X would have died.”

“I don’t know about that,” Zero sighs. His voice is hoarse. “X is tough.”

The voice belongs to a doctor robot-- spider-like Reploid contraptions. They shake their head in exasperation.

“Not that tough. If you hadn’t put out his fires, well…”

Zero feels more than hears the steel bar separate in his hands. He doesn’t want to think about the alternatives. He doesn’t want to think about X, lifeless and dead, because he had been too slow to respond. He hates that, like a guillotine, the possibility of X waking up with memory failure hangs over his head. It’s because of him that X is like this now.

Spindly hands grasp his shoulders. Heat explodes behind his face-- tears, sorrow, grief, all breaking the carefully curated dam, and he cries, overwhelmed by the influx of emotion. The spidery hospital-bot cradles him (they close the door as discreetly as possible, shielding Zero from prying eyes).

“Worry not, Zero.... We will do everything in our power to save X,” they murmur.

Behind them, the machines cycle softly, screens racing through test after test, performing the most sensitive of damage control.

 

+

 

The next morning, Zero is confronted with a backlog of alerts and orders. He struggles to comprehend them all at first-- the sheer amount of messages had alarmed him, yet as he parsed through the text, it was only a myriad of schedule of changes and relievements of duty. Most damnable was the message from Signas himself, whose words he could hardly stand to read.

 

_Zero,_

_I understand that at the time of this message you will be preparing for your next mission. However, in light of your recent operations, I have decided to relieve you of your duties until further notice._

 

He sucks in a sharp breath.

 

_You will not, however, be relieved of mentoring duties. The necessary arrangements have already been made. Starting today, Zero, you are withdrawn from active duty until determined otherwise._

_Signas._

 

It takes him several attempts to finish the short letter, and several more to fully digest its contents. Somehow, he had been found unfit for duty, but how? Why? He reels wildly. The door of his recharger swings out with a bang as he forces it open. His chest burns and his optics fade and everything hurts---

Zero doubles over abruptly, choking. The burning lances up to his throat as he coughs hard, forcing something out of his windpipe and onto the floor.

His mouth is dry. It feels like cloth.

His carpeted floor is spattered with the bright hues of a flower. The blossom is overturned, its blue petals smashed and tattered.

He stares down at it hopelessly. There’s no impending mission to distract himself from it this time.

Last week, it had only been petals.

 

+

 

The architecture that forms the memory of a Reploid is powerful, yet fragile and delicate, susceptible to disturbances that only scratch the surface. If modern day Reploids’ minds are difficult to replicate and restore, then X is nigh impossible, for he possesses the most advanced technology in the world, and there is nothing like him to rebuild from (except, perhaps, Zero). The support machines can only do so much-- quarantining damaged sectors, scrubbing hardware, recementing lost memories or habits or quirks of the personality deemed critically important to X’s development. And as his mind is preserved, his body is restored or replaced or otherwise corrected, glory being returned in fits and bursts.

And they watch, anxiously, the contents of his exoskeleton-- so perfectly mechanical, yet harboring the burgeoning vestiges of organic life, the stubborn and damnable roots of Hanahaki, an accursed disease that of course would affect X-- X! The Reploid who cries and mourns and is driven by emotion, now imperiled by such impulses, for Hanahaki is a disease that refuses to discriminate. It seeks out love of all unspoken, forsaken natures, and goes down in history as the definition of ‘beauty in death.’

The fatality rate is high.

X is on life support.

What is he living down there, deep inside his dreams?

And why are his dreams more powerful than the team of engineers?

 

+

 

Zero is… uncomfortable, to the say the least, in the vicinity of rookies ripped off the streets and shipped off assembly lines. They move differently from each other, even as they learn the same techniques, and Zero understands the merits of being formatted by society. The former civilians move with a human’s fluidity and comfort in being alive, while the newly builds are terribly in sync and stiff and robotic. He is forced to understand, intimately, the imbalance in recruit deaths and recruit origins.

 

_I know which ones will die just by the cadence of their gait._

 

The thought strikes him, and he is surprised by the vehemence of his defiance, a surge of denial in the face of reality. He finds himself raising his hand and calling out a shout-- ending training, ‘go home early, and we’ll have a new routine tomorrow.’

His throat itches. His chest feels uncomfortably full.

He writes a letter to Signas on his way to the break room.

 

_Signas,_

_Tomorrow I will take my quadrant of recruits to the city square, for the purpose of people watching and community service. With your permission. The idea is to perform this exercise a couple times a week, just enough for the newly builds to lose their manufactured edge. This should translate in their training and even raise their chances for survival._

_Zero._

 

By the time the email is finished, a white blossom is crushed in his fist.

 

+

 

X’s eyes are closed and his mouth is curved in the tiniest of smiles. His armor is missing in places, shiny and new in others, and his skin is no longer charred. The machines still cycle ever so gently on either side of him, combing and building and preserving every aspect of his being. One arm is detached from his torso-- the hand that Zero holds-- but the other is still there, so Zero grasps that one, staring down at X with a burning throat and glowing optics.

“I know what you mean now, you know,” Zero whispers through a choked throat. “With the training. It is a special kind of hell.”

X had taken up the mantle of training newbies before Zero, and had learned the game quickly.

“Maybe I’ll try something different, if Signas lets me,” he murmurs. “I’ll--”

The burning, choking sensation catches up with him. Bold blue petals stare up at him against pale blue armor.

He sweeps up the flower and leaves in haste.

 

_Zero,_

_Your proposal is an interesting one. For tomorrow, I will allow it, but for a more permanent solution I will transfer it to the appropriate boards and you can expect to hear from them then._

_Signas._

+

 

Red and gold petals are extracted from X’s fuel tanks and dumped into a bag, along with the rest of the Hanahaki vine, glowing a sickly green from drinking deeply of Reploid energy. After the clean up, they wheel X and all his machines into a specialized room for scanning, wondering if they can pinpoint the origin of the disease. X’s lips twitch and stretch awkwardly all the while-- as if trying to smile, but he’s forgotten how.

The machines cycle ever so quietly. Miraculously, they’ve recovered every last scrap of data and overturned any corruption found. Now it was just the matter of polishing it off and purging X of his pesky disease before turning him back online.

(Surgical removal of Hanahaki is chancy. It doesn’t always work.)

(They tell themselves that they have to try for X’s sake. For humanity’s sake.)

(And what do you do if X comes around himself? He was always a little unpredictable like that.)

The scans show that the vine has its roots burrowed into the metal of X’s fuel pump. Its made swiss cheese of the precious component.

“Begin reconstruction of X’s fuel pump. And work fast.”

* * *

 

_bellflowers - humility, reverence_


	2. Chapter 2

x does wake. 

he awakens when it is dark, but not so dark he cannot see; soft lights wink at the edges of his vision but he struggles to move his eyes back and forth, struggles to take in his surroundings. the hum of machines overwhelms his ears as more than awareness flashes to life-- after his brain, so comes the eyes, then the ears, then the nerve endings--

and god, the nerve endings,

their activation is the sensation of lightning threatening to strike, like so many ants crawling across his skin, crackling across skin and hair he does not have, not truly, and then the pain sets in,

he does not scream in pain-- or perhaps he does, and the sound does not come out, or it echoes endlessly against the metal walls, joining the din of silence that compounds upon itself in the staticky half-darkness, cut apart abruptly when light floods the interior

casting x into a harsh, sterile cut of damnation, etching his pained, frozen form into eternity--

\--then the pain fades all at once, receding back into itself like shadows from the sun, and he sleeps.

-

The city is busy. Humans crowd the streets, chasing open doors and tinkling bells, following each other in a premeditated dance which paradoxically demands they must not touch. The aroma of food dominates the air, overpowering the scent of citrusy hover bike fuel and baser gasoline. The chatter is overwhelming yet quelled by the flood of tinny music coming from shops and restaurants alike. Zero watches all this from his concrete street corner, just as he watches his gaggle of recruits take to the wandering humans.

His instructions had been simple-- socialize. Interact. Be helpful where you may, but always be kind. But he was no X, so the words felt strange in his mouth, and he's certain that that translated over to his recruits. He watches their helmets bob and weave among hair and fabric and flesh, their bodies dispersing into the wind like loose paper.

Zero follows them, curating his distance, his mind and expression held aloof so that he could observe in peace. There's a rendezvous point he's cast them toward-- one at the other end of this neighborhood, an hour or so by foot. He wants to arrive late, see what they do when left unattended, see what changes this exercise inspired.

The sun winks at him through a gap in steel buildings, bright and yellow, blinding him until his optics adjust. When they do, he finds that he's tailing a recruit directly, but they are engaged with humans-- costumed, and oh, perhaps that's why there's a crowd, beyond the festival overwhelming the streets. A convention must be happening nearby, hidden by the austere, unassuming walls of skyscrapers and entertainment centers. Zero blinks, and the world slows--

"You're dressed just like my coach Zero!" The reploid is saying, all smiles and crinkled eyes, armor apple green in the sunlight. "He should-- oh, there he is! Hey, boss!"

Zero feels his insides swell, full of water, then deflate, a receding tide revealing rocks and sand. He offers a flat palm, loosely splayed fingers, a smile that's small and tight.

The human is, indeed, dressed like his coach, Zero, if Zero was about five or ten years younger-- the shoulder pads are round and there's only an arm cannon, white and gaudy. A look of very un-Zero like enthusiasm, raw and unbridled, is on their face, and--

"This feels like a dream! I had no idea-- gosh, can I get your autograph? We have like, a cutout of you that we use in our fencing classes, it's really cool, but I guess it's a little outdated now, huh--"

Humans are good at talking. This one, this woman, particularly. She's fast and excitable and heart-wrenchingly earnest, the kind that reminds him too much of X. His chest tightens, a cinching of cables, and his head feels stuffed with cotton. 

When he resurfaces, the woman is red in the face, chattering still, a crescendo of anxiety, and his recruit is tapping his shoulder with a tentative, trembling hand.

Zero blinks, slow. Right. He should speak.

"You... wanted an autograph?" He croaks. 

Smooth.

"Um- yes, please! If it's not too much trouble, that is. I have- could you sign the buster, please? Gosh, thank you so much," the woman says, ever so slightly calmer.

"What's your name?" Zero asks, taking her proffered sharpie.

"Hikaru!" The woman- Hikaru- bursts. 

Zero scrawls in a well-developed script a brief compliment, complete with signature. He looks it over to make sure it's legible; satisfied, he takes a step back.

"Have a good day, Hikaru. I'll see you around," Zero says, rather amicably.

He falls into step with his recruit, who seems to have taken the goal of today to heart. Once again, his chest aches, but his throat burns too, X's face consuming his mind's eyes.

-

x slips in and out of consciousness. peace does not find him easily-- he does not dip low enough to sleep, and kissing the edges of awareness incites only pain, creating a gray and aching limbo. surfacing from this in-between arrests him in pain that first he balks away from, reluctant to embrace.

once he does, his eyes open.

he looks down at himself and finds that from the waist down, he is missing, or transformed, a mass of cables and clamps and machinery making up the lower portion of his body. it seems that all of him has become something other than a reploid-- it reminds him, distantly, of dr. cain before he died.

addled, he wonders if that, too, will be his fate, then laughs despite himself. the simple action, lighter than air, silences him just as quickly. a light flares overhead.

things go dark again.

-

The ache in his chest has deepened. 

Zero considers it for perhaps half a moment before swallowing the sensation and stuffing it away to be ignored. He lingers in the designated rendezvous for his recruits, staring into the beady eyed stare of a beetle-shaped transport. The Maverick Hunters had always favored insectoid machines for their hunting tasks, though bees and wasps had been suspiciously absent from the roster for years. Beetles were the latest fad.

Pain flares in his chest. His throat itches. He catches the eye of the transport driver and decides that, if he cannot win out against his own body, then he shall wallow in the pain alone, shielded from the prying eyes of others. His body sways uncharacteristically as he rushes out of the parking lot.

He knows from past experience that shutting down his nerves in his torso will not absolve him of suffocating on plant matter. It simply delays the process enough so that a mission or three has gone by and he can no longer communicate with his Hunters, throat packed full of blossoms. The same is happening now--

it's just the onset is much faster.

Zero sighs, then chokes, realizing his error instantly. The rush of air disturbs the cluster of flowers feeding on his body and his entirety goes stiff and rigid with the urge to dispel the vegetation-- already on the war path, he doubles over, jaw ajar and throat wide open. One blossom writhes its way free-- 

it hangs, suspended, attached by a glowing green stem, which only lengthens.

Zero grabs the stem and yanks. Fluid floods his mouth and sharper, more concentrated pain erupts in his neck-- a damaged tube, surely, but he doesn't care. He yanks on the stem until it breaks and yanks some more, pulling apart the plant and its coolant-stained petals. 

The fervor does not stop until his chest is void of the bastard plants.

"Zero? Are you-- are you okay?"

-

Maurice had been the 0th Unit's driver for several years now. He liked to think that he had a fair bead on all of them, including Zero. The aloof Hunter was cold and impassive, often unreadable, but even stone walls had their quirks. The stone wall today had a crack driven through its center, visible as soon as he nearly tripped on his way out of the parking lot.

It was concerning, to say the least.

And the sight isn't pretty.

Well, it is, but dangerously so, as Zero is always pretty-- he's pretty now, hunched over as he is, flower petals cascading down his chest and collecting haphazardly around his boots. Bundles of blue and white, of glowing green, damning evidence.

"I'm fine," Zero growls, but his expression is pinched and fractured. The sheer cliff side is crumbling. It's stained with specks of fake blood and coolant.

Maurice grunts, disbelieving. "Go hang out in the battle bug, Zero. I'll get this cleaned up."

The second's silence is taut, a tripwire. A myriad of minute changes overwhelm Zero's physique, met by twice as many calculations from Maurice. Their stare down ends when Zero capitulates in a decidedly not-Zero way:

"I'm sorry you had to see that."

Maurice says nothing as their shoulders clip. He merely smiles and offers a two finger salute.

-

Hours slide by, identical and boring.

"What do you think of the new kids, Maurice?"

"That kid, Quark. Got guns the size of me on him, the hell's with that?"

"He's smart about them."

"Good thing, 'cause they're inaccurate as shit. Hey, didn't you want to people watch them for a while?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Here's one now."

-

"Alright, everyone! Good work today. When we get back, meet me at training facility Beta-4, got it?"

-

A detailed report is drawn up after Zero exercises his recruits. Human exposure encouraged noticeable, immediate changes in posture. That was a good thing about baby Reploids-- newbuilts, he chides himself-- they learned quickly.

_Signas,_

_I ran the simulation today. It went well. Improvements have already been found in movement._

_Zero._

Zero attaches the report's file to the message. As soon as it finishes sending, he leaves his room.

-

The IC unit is busy. X's room is empty. Zero feels heavy and out of place. 

"Where is he?" Zero asks, grabbing a Lifesaver by the arm. "Where's X?"

"He's being operated on. They're replacing his fuel pump," they say, emanating sympa--

pity. all zero can see is _pity._

His grip tightens; he pushes the Lifesaver away.

"Please."

The pity concentrates, sour. 

"Please, Zero," the Lifesaver sighs. "He went in a couple hours ago. Wait for him in the reception, okay?"

"Fine," Zero says. "Okay. Thank you."

-

The waiting room is... full. Too full for Zero to rationalize occupying a seat. There must have been a major operation that flew south, if the injuries were anything to go by. Some ambitious Hunters were trying to work on each other, patching up leaks and slashes--

He's reminded sharply of X, doing the same to him, not even a month ago. So much had changed in this week alone. Had it really only been a couple days since the last offensive? Why were there so many more injured?  X's hands are soft over his skin, a feather's presence. Minuscule wires are teased at and reconnected. Acute pain burns his finger tips, but the nerve endings are once again functional. X smiles, so tender, brilliant despite the bags under his eyes and the weariness--

"Zero-- Zero!"

Reality strikes him, swifter than a shot. The waiting room is still full, still loud, but there's more eyes on him than before, and someone has a hand on his arm and is trying to coax him out the door. The hallway is much quieter. 

"Zero, are you alright?"

He nods, scrubbing his face with a gloved hand. He digs blunt finger tips into his eyes, willing his focus to return; when it does, he sees...

"Alia?" Zero says, voice rough. "What... You're hurt," he states, gesturing at the thin slice beneath her breastplate.

"Well, yes. There was an accident at a response site today, but enough about me. Zero, are you alright?" 

They're walking. Zero falls into step beside Alia without thinking about it. The blonde has a smile on and her usual Navi headset has been forsaken for a proper combat helmet. It has tiny ears on it, like a bear. He stares at them for a long moment, evading the lightly-insistent stare of his friend. Then he looks forward without answering.

"Alright, I get it," Alia says quietly. "I'll wait for him with you."

The break room is at the end of this hall. Alia gets there first, using her palm to unlock the door and usher Zero inside. It's thankfully empty-- it usually is, this late in the evening. They take a round table nearest to the vending machine. Its low hum keeps imposing silence at bay.

"The response site," Zero starts. "What happened?"

"It was a construction site. New hospital. No Mavericks, but there was a structural collapse we had to respond to," Alia says. "Sorry to say, a lot of us got caught in it. No casualties, though."

"Thank Asimov," he sighs. "...Seeing the medbay like that... scared me. I'm glad you're alright."

Zero's fingers dig into the smooth surface of the table in stead of gripping it. Emotions were never his strong suit, but he's full of them now, chasing his thoughts into an incomprehensible frenzy. Conversation's hard-- small talk is useless, a waste of power; Alia's voice is lost to his turmoil as it surges forward with no reprieve. Anxiety makes him woozy, off kilter, and the overwhelming concept of X--

His chest aches, and his throat burns. 

"Alia," he chokes out, probably cutting her off but he honestly can't tell, it's beyond his capabilities--   
"I have Hanahaki."

The confession is deafening. The table is shaking because Zero's hands are shaking and he can't release them from the table's edge. He's compelled to crush the thin metal between finger and palm, feel the sharp edges slice past the gloves and into synthskin, the relief would be--

It would be relief.

But Alia beats him to the punch, using her hands to relax his, slender fingers clasping his palms. He's shaking, but she's steady; his elbows clatter noisily as his upper body drops. Somehow, his head is caught before he lets his face slam into the table. Shame makes his face warm and his neck hot.

"You need to tell X," Alia says quietly. With one hand, she clasps both of Zero's, using her other to cup his cheek. "That you love him."

"I never thought I'd be able to love," Zero breathes. "I'm not supposed to be able to."

Alia's face is free of urgency, but it is softly insistent. Her hands linger, warm points of contact trailing comforting heat down heavy crimson gauntlets that aren't supposed to feel. 

"But you can, Zero," she says softly. "Don't waste it. Tell him."

The door slams open. 

"Zero! X is awake!" 

-

x is relieved to have his body back in one piece. he's relieved to have a blanket, one from his very own room. he folds himself under the fabric as far as he dares-- which is not very far at all, considering he's stuffed inside of a very impersonal charging capsule. it's a medical one, meant to monitor a reploid fresh out of repairs. this one has a metal clasp around his torso.

it's mildly uncomfortable. tight, cold, and digging into his stomach. he looks at the tiny screen displaying the clasp's readings-- a shot of his internals, of the reconstructed fuel pump, which is not quite identical to his own--

"When will Zero get here?" X asks, blowing hot air through his nose. "I really miss him."

"Shortly," Lifesaver says.

x watches the doctor curiously. all Lifesavers were identical in appearance except for those who elected customization. this Lifesaver was named Lawrence, and while curt, was very kind. x rolls the memory around in his head.

"I really want to see him," X sighs again, wistful.

he also wants to get out of here. hanahaki or not, he had a-- 

did he have a life to get back to? a job? what was his fate, if not predetermined, given an expiration date by a bizarre phenomena-- perhaps this was the most damning evidence that reploids were people too, deserving of love and respect in equal measures. the humans still didn't think so.

frustrating, heartbreaking.

"I'll tell him," X promises to the air. "I'll tell him I love him."

his eyes flick to the door as Lawrence leaves. he frowns when his stern voice raises, sharp and scolding, and jumps out of his skin when the door is thrown open wide and--

a burst of white flame, a brilliance of red and gold, fierce and terrifying as it bursts into the room, dimming everything because of course, zero consumes everything, an immense presence that is hot against x's bare skin, hot against his heart, seeping into his body as their gems meet and

"I love you, X," 

a voice so low, so beautiful, hoarse and ragged on the edges, sending shivers down his spine

"I love you, Zero."

machines beep around them, complaining. low and plaintive. inconsequential. x giggles into zero's mouth as they try to kiss, clumsy, sparks of light jumping between their gems as they meet and meet again. he wraps his legs around zero's torso, arms thrown around his broad shoulders.

"Don't do that to me again, X," Zero growls into his mouth. "I don't know if I can live without you."

"I die every time you leave me," X whispers. "I will never make you suffer like that."

 

 

They stay like that. Zero cradles X, a pillar of strength while the world around them rushes into chaos. They don't need the world-- not when they have each other, finally honest, finally clean to one another.

**Author's Note:**

> Please, feel free to critique or throw out suggestions. This is going to be fun to write.


End file.
